Nothing Left To Lose
by LaurenGoodwin
Summary: AU: Kurt belongs to a group of hitman against his will. His next assignment? Assassinate the President Of The United States. Easier said than done, especially when Kurt falls for the President's son, Blaine.


Kurt Hummel didn't understand or know much about the world. He didn't know if there really was a God. He didn't know why people had to get sick and die. He didn't know why the world was filled with so much hatred, racism, and homophobia. He didn't know why he was born gay. But there was one thing he knew that was absolutely certain of:

Life sucks.

People will tell you that things will get better and that you get what you give in a world like this, but Kurt was wondering when any of this was going to happen, or if it was even going to happen at all. Everyday he woke up, hoping for a change or something in his life to go right for once, and he went to bed that night disappointed that it hadn't yet. And he was starting to feel like it never would.

Nothing ever goes as planned or the way you want. You can hope and dream and pray, but in the end, everything's a train wreck and you wind up getting hurt. There's no point in trying to reach for the stars, because you'll fall right back down. You chase a dream, and before you can even blink, it's escaped from your grasp and everything's suddenly so hopeless. You try to create your reality and live your best life, but there's always that person or thing that gets in the way and screws everything up for you. There's nothing you can do to change it.

And that's where all of this brought Kurt on that autumn evening. He knew streets of downtown Lima were definitely no place to be after dark. Every time he would leave the house when it was getting dark to go meet Mercedes at the mall or to Rachel's house for a Broadway movie night, his father would remind him to stay away from there. Kurt would simply roll his eyes, agree, and give his dad a hug before leaving the house.

When he left the house tonight, there was no voice calling in from the living room telling him not to go downtown. Nothing for Kurt to roll his eyes at and nobody to hug. As he made his way down the sidewalk, he came to the realization why his father had told him to stay away from this place.

Groups of beefy, tattooed men in leather stood around, watching every person who walked by. A homeless man was fast asleep lilac colored sleeping bagMothers sat on benches with their girlfriends and complained about life, before suggesting that they hit up a local bar. Everything reeked of heavy cigarette smoke, and sirens could be heard from every direction. Not one face on the street looked friendly. But it's not like Kurt had anywhere else to go or anything else to do.

He grabbed the collar of his trench coat and held it closed, the cold wind whipping against his neck becoming to uncomfortable to bear. He spotted an empty bench in front of a closed Starbucks (or Staruck, as the b and s on the neon sign were extremely dim and had been flickering on and off for as long as Kurt could recall) that him and Mercedes would often go to. In the summer, they would sit outside on that bench for a good hour and gossip about everything and everyone, while pointing out hot guys that walked by and make fun of ugly clothes that pedestrians were wearing. A small smile spread across Kurt's lips as the memory of the jogging woman in a floral sports bra and orange and white stripped shorts crossed his mind.

He sat down on the bench and crossed his arms to preserve warmth. November in Lima was incredibly cold, and Kurt mentally hit himself for forgetting to grab his scarf and hat before he left his house, but it was too late now.

It's not like it really mattered.

Because tomorrow, things would get even worse than they already were.

Kurt was only sitting on the bench for a good five minutes when he felt something on his shoulder. He saw a hand out of the corner of his eye. He quickly jumped up and let out a squeak, his mind racing. God. He was going to get mugged or attacked or mugged AND attacked, and his face. What if they messed up his face? And his new coat? No. Absolutely not. This was unacceptable. He had to do something befo-

"Whoa, calm down!" a gravelly voice chuckled from behind him.

"I have no money. Please don't hurt me." Kurt shouted nervously and held his hands up.

"Christ, kid, I'm not trying to rob you. I just wanted to see if you were alright."

Kurt slowly turned around and came face to face with a tall man, with gorgeous blue eyes that somewhat rivaled his own. His brunette hair was pushed back and styled neatly, and he had a crooked smile that Kurt found charming. He looked like an Abercrombie model, Kurt decided, despite the tattoos that ran up his muscular arms that Abercrombie models probably either weren't allowed to have or had to cover up.

The stranger smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Are you done inspecting me yet?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Just wanted to make sure the man who just grabbed my shoulder wasn't planning on holding me at gunpoint or anything."

"Do I look like the type?"

"Is there a type?"

"Touche." Blue Eyes snorted. "Like I said, I just wanted to see if you were okay. I'm from around here and I've never seen you around these parts before. And you look kind of horrible."

"Excuse me?" Kurt said, sounding somewhat offended.

"I mean, you look like you've been crying. You have bags under your eyes. You look like a mess. No offense."

"Well." Kurt said. "I think you're being an asshole. No offense."

"Maybe. But let's get back to the point of the matter. Are you okay?"

Kurt bit down hard on his lower lip and slowly shook his head. "No. I'm not okay, thank you very much for asking. Now if you'd excuse me." Kurt turned around to leave but felt the man's strong grip around his forearm.

"What's got you down?" Blue Eyes let go of Kurt when he saw the panic on Kurt's face. He sat down on the bench.

"Why do you care?" Kurt grumbled. "You don't even know me."

"I do know when a person needs help." Blue Eyes answered and glanced up at Kurt seriously. "If I had talked to someone sooner, maybe things wouldn't have turned out the way that they did."

Kurt looked down at the ground at his feet, feeling pretty guilty for calling the man an asshole moments ago when all he really wanted to do was help. And he didn't _look_ dangerous. "I'm sorry. What happened to you-" Kurt paused. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Jack. Jack Maines. And you?"

"Kurt Hummel."

"Well Kurt Hummel. How much time do you have?"

Kurt smiled coyly. "A lot. All of the time in the world, to be exact."

"Sit down for a spell, then."

Kurt gave in, sitting down a cautious distance away from the man he had just met moments earlier. He watched Jack pull a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, grabbed one, and lit up.

"I'll give you the abridged version. Details ain't that important, now are they?" Jack began. "Anyways, I was bullied a lot in middle school. Kids would shove me into lockers and knock my tray out of my hands at lunch or my books out of my hands in the hall. They'd call me ugly or a dork." Jack reached up and placed a hand on his face. "Maybe I was a little awkward looking, but you have to admit, I'm pretty good looking now."

"Someone's cocky." Kurt teased.

Jack ignored him. "I kept it all inside. All of the anger and frustration. By sixteen, I had snapped. Flunked out of high school. My parents disowned me." He took a long drag from his cigarette. "I met my ex on the streets. I moved in with her when I was 17, worked off jobs. She cheated on me a few years later. I'm living in my truck most of the time now, my friends are assholes, and now I'm sitting here talking to you."

"That's awful." Kurt whispered.

"So. Kurt. Enough about me. What about you?"

"Alright." Kurt sighed. "Let's see. My mom died when I was seven. I get bullied every single day for dressing too flamboyant, being gay, and being in Glee club. One of my worst bullies was expelled, but he's coming back tomorrow. He threatened to kill me. My dad had a heart attack a few days ago and everyone's telling me he probably won't get better. Nobody seems to understand what I'm going through and I don't want to do this anymore."

"Do what?"

"Live this way."

"You seem really angry." Jack remarked.

"I am, and I have reason to be!" Kurt snapped.

Jack nodded. "I know. You go through some horrible shit. Nobody deserves that." He paused, and a huge smile spread across his lips. "How about a break? Me and some of my friends are heading up to Cincinnati for the day tomorrow. How about a guys day?"

"I don't know." Kurt's voice was filled with hesitation. "Skip school?"

"That's real cute, Kurt. Yes. Skip school. Come on. What do you got left to lose?"

Kurt thought for a moment. If he went, he wouldn't have to face Karofsky for an extra day. It would only be one day- he would return to school on Thursday. It's not like anyone would miss him. Not the Glee club, not the teachers, not the other students. The Glee guys always considered Kurt to be one of the girls, assuming that he was either part girl or just boring, Kurt hadn't decided yet. He'd never really known what a guys day was actually like. Jack seemed nice enough and wanted to spend time with Kurt. Oh, and he was gorgeous. He looked up into Jack's mesmerizing eyes and sighed.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll come."

Jack's face lit up. "Great! I'll come pick you up tomorrow morning." He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a cheap pen. "Just tell me where you live."

Kurt recited his address and Jack wrote it sloppily on his palm. Kurt just stared into the starless sky after Jack departed back down the street, contemplating if it was a good idea to agree to go on a drive with a bunch of men he didn't even know. His dad would most certainly not approve. No, certainly not. If he even mentioned the idea, his dad would go off on a rampage and lock Kurt in his room so he wouldn't be able to go.

But his father wasn't there at the moment. He might not ever be back.

And like Jack said- he had nothing left to lose, but everything to gain.

* * *

**TWO YEARS LATER**

"Jack Maines?"

Jack glanced up from his paper filled desk and eyed the older man, clad in a grey suit with a briefcase, standing in his doorway, a smile across his face. Jack took off the reading glasses that were perched on his nose and set them down on a stack of bills. "Ah. You must be Mr. Yorke. Come in."

The man strolled into the room, slowly closing the door behind him. "Please, call me Adam."

Jack gestured to the other side of the desk. "Have a seat."

Adam sat down in the wooden chair across from Jack and placed his briefcase down on the desk. "I have a special job for you. The biggest job you've ever done."

"Oh?"

Adam nodded. "Very special. I'm going to need numerous men. The operation in total should take a month, maybe a month and a half. And we'll have-"

"I can't spare more than one man for a month." Jack snorted and looked back down at the piles of paperwork that covered his desk. "I don't think you understand. I have two businesses to run. A day one and a night one. How am I going to do that if all of my employees are after your ex-girlfriend? Now that doesn't sound fair, does it? So why don't you get your ass out of my office instead of asking me for something impossible and stupid like you're about to."

Adam didn't seem the least bit worried. "This isn't your ordinary financial related job. Do you know Dex Lopez?"

Jack's head shot up, suddenly interested in what the man had to say at the mention of the name. "Of course! Leader of the Sync Mafia back in the day. A freaking legend. He's still alive?"

"Leonard Dexter Goodwin. He's doing quite well for himself. I mean, he's vice president of the United States."

"You're shitting me." Jack's eyes widened. "But I heard that he was killed in a gunfight a few years back."

Adam chuckled and shook his head. "He's still very much alive. He asked me specifically to come see you. You were the last leader of the gang before it's demise. He knows about this business, and he wants you to do something for him."

"Anything for him. What is it? Or who, rather."

"President Wayne Anderson."

"What the fuck? Why?"

"You like him?"

"God, no. But...why?"

"Dex ran for president three times. He never made it past the primaries. He met Wayne in law school and the two of them were friends. Wayne decided to run and asked Dex to be his running mate. Wayne...he was a trust fund baby. He had tons of money to begin with and he bribed and paid off a lot of people. Dex was furious when he found out and Wayne won. If Wayne gets into an unfortunate accident, then Dex automatically takes the throne. Dex has big plans for the country. Big. Major. Huge."

Jack laughed. "Sounds like Dex. What kind of plans?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss them with you." Adam voice suddenly became stern, throwing Jack off guard. "But Dex is willing to pay over a million for this job."

"Shit, that's a lot."

"The President's son, Blaine, needs an advisor. Someone to look after him, since he's under eighteen. His previous advisor had to step down after his wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. The man who does so will live in the White House, watch after the President's son, and earn the families trust. Then we go in for the kill and get away."

"I don't know. Will that work?"

"Are you doubting your men's abilities? I thought you would have more faith in your employees, Mr. Maines." Jack opened his mouth to respond, but Adam cut him off. "Which one of your men have the highest success rate?"

"Hummel. Kurt Hummel." Jack answered without any hesitation.

"Is he here?"

Jack stood up and walked over to the door. He opened it a crack and shouted out. "Hey Kurt?"

"Yeah?"

"Get in here." Jack closed the door again and returned to his seat. "Kurt. He's great. 100% success rate."

"Oh?"

"He'll be perfect for the job." Jack said confidently. "I'm sure of it."

The door opened, revealing Kurt. Kurt was no longer the boy that Jack had met on the bench two years ago, that's for sure. He had really filled out- muscles, height, everything. However, the designer clothes Kurt once had were replaced with a regular pair of jeans and a tight white t-shirt, and he always wore the most miserable of expressions on his face, maybe even more miserable then the one he was wearing on that night two years ago. Kurt hesitantly stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "Yes?"

"Kurt, this is Mr. Adam Yorke."

"How do you do?" Adam stuck out a hand. Kurt stared blankly at it for a moment before taking it in his own and lightly shaking it, nodding.

Jack glared at Kurt. "Kurt," he began through gritted teeth. "Mr. Yorke is going to be requiring our assistance. How would you like a big job?"

"Big job?" Kurt's voice was hoarse, and he sounded entirely uninterested in this entire conversation as he twiddled his thumbs and looked like he was off in his own world.

"Kurt, would you like to do the honor of assassinating the President of the United States?"

That caught Kurt's full attention. His head shot up, and his glasz, tired eyes were practically bugging out of his head. "Are you insane?"

"Hummel." Jack said in a warning tone. "This is serious. Listen. The Vice President wants the President dead. You'd be the President's son's advisor, and-"

"Wait, no." Kurt interrupted hastily. "That's literally the most batshit crazy thing I've ever heard. No. Absolutely not. I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I can't."

Jack let out an irritated sigh. He turned back towards Adam, wearing an artificial smile as he tried to keep his anger in. "Could you excuse us for a moment?"

Adam looked less than pleased. He raised an eyebrow. "Sure."

Jack stood up, shoved Kurt into the hallway, and slammed the office door shut. He forcefully pinned Kurt up against the wall and grabbed him by the shirt collar. Kurt could already tell that he would have bruises all over his back when he woke up. "What the hell are you dong, Hummel?"

Kurt choked back a whimper that was trying to escape his mouth since his back had collided with the wall. Stay strong, he told himself confidently. Don't let him see you cry. There's been enough of that. "What do you mean what am I doing? I'm saying no to something that's frigging stupid."

Jack let Kurt go and Kurt fell to the floor, his body feeling incapable of movement. "What are you talkin' about? What could happen?"

"We could get caught and put in jail for life." Kurt stared at the man. He felt like he was addressing a small child, trying to explain why he couldn't have cookies before dinner. But that was Jack for you- pretty, but not very bright, with not the least bit of intelligence in the guy's brain.

"No we won't." Jack replied, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Are you really that naive, Jack?" Kurt huffed and tried to stand. He struggled on keeping his balance, caught between the wall and Jack's six foot plus stature.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You remember our deal, don't you?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Then what the hell's the hold up? A deal's a deal. You know that. You either take this job and we get a million big ones, or I'll-"

"Stop." Kurt yelled. He already knew how that statement ended. He had heard it at least a hundred times before during his two years with Jack, and it hurt more and more every time it was said. The smirk that crawled across Jack's face that followed felt like a knife had just pierced through Kurt's heart. Jack was winning. Again. And there was Kurt, helpless and utterly vulnerable. He lowered his voice and looked down at his feet. "I'll...I'll do it. Okay?"

Jack took a step back. "I knew you were smart, Hummel." He turned around to go back into the office, but paused and turned to face Kurt again.

"Besides," he whispered. "what do you got left to lose?" The creepy smile was still on his face, and god, how Kurt hated it. Just two years ago Kurt was practically fawning over his good looks on that park bench, but now he just felt disgusted at the sight of it. He wanted to punch him. Stab him. Kill the bastard. Wipe that stupid smile off of his face. But of course, he couldn't.

"Nothing, because of you." Kurt muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." Kurt responded quickly. "Absolutely nothing. So what do I have to do?"

"Come back in the office and we'll explain it better for you."

* * *

"So." Jack was back at his desk, sitting smugly across from a stone faced Kurt and a jolly Adam. "You mentioned something about the President's son, Adam?"

Adam nodded turned to Kurt. "President Anderson's son, Blaine. He's sixteen. You need to be his advisor for the month. You'll gain his whole families trust. A month or two later, we'll pretend that somethings wrong, hold a private meeting with him and his parents. We'll have a distraction go on at the front of the White House. Have someone clear out all the security tapes. You kill them all. Dad, mom, and son. Voila."

"And the Secret Service in the room won't think anythings wrong when I pull out a gun?" Kurt pointed out. "How long did it take you to come up with that one? Three minutes? You'd need something more complex and thought out. Face it, ever since JFK, it's impossible."

Adam tapped his fingers on Jack's desk. "Well," he began, the annoyance clear in his voice. "Perhaps I can get some of your men hired in the Secret Service as well. Get them fake backgrounds and such. It could work."

"That sounds like a good idea." Jack chimed in. "I look good in a suit."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay. So what does an advisor do?"

Adam opened his briefcase and took out a paper. "Acts as a chauffeur." he began to read. "Looks out for the kid's all around well being and happiness." He looked up. "Obviously, his parents are pretty preoccupied all the time. Family time isn't that crucial to Wayne."

"So basically I'm babysitting some spoiled brat who's a year younger then me?" Kurt said without thinking.

Silence. Jack stared at Kurt in pure horror. Ever since that night two years ago, Jack had changed Kurt's age to 21 so he could get into bars and clubs when he had a job to do, and so the clients of the Jack and Company handyman service by day and the Hitman services at night would actually use him. It was just too weird and suspicious asking a 15 or 16 year old kid to murder someone for you. It couldn't get out.

"I beg your pardon?" Adam spoke up.

Jack let out a nervous laugh. "Kurt, he said 16. Not 20. Because you're 21. Right?"

"Totally." Kurt replied awkwardly. "Yeah."

Adam laughed. "Oh good, I was worried there for a second." He took a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and dabbed his forehead nervously.

"So was I." Jack muttered.

"So," Adam continued. "We'll start this thing at the end of the month I guess."

"That sounds great. I just need you to fill out some paperwork. Kurt, you're dismissed for now." Jack signaled towards the door, which obviously meant 'Get the hell out you asshole, you almost fucking blew it, nice job, I'll deal with you later'

Adam looked up at him and gave him a small smile. "It was nice to meet you Kurt."

"Yeah. You too." Kurt gave him a short wave and escaped the room as fast as his legs would let him. He arrived at his room upstairs, which consisted of a mattress and blankets, some books, and a small dresser and mirror. The room reeked of something dead ever since the first night he had slept here. No matter how many cans of Lysol he sprayed into this room, he never had any luck. So he dealt with it. Just like he has been dealing with a lot of things that no one should have to. But that's the summary of Kurt's life for you.

Kurt threw himself onto the mattress and groaned into the pillow, like he did almost every night. Other nights, he would sob, depending on the events that had taken place in the hours before. But tonight, Kurt wasn't upset. He was angry. Angry at Jack for being such an asshole. Angry at Adam for being stupid enough to want to kill the damn President. Angry at himself for giving Jack his address two years ago. And he already had angry feelings towards whoever this Blaine kid was. He knew Blaine's type. A snob. Someone who snaps their fingers and expects to get whatever they want served to them on a silver platter within seconds. The amount of patience Kurt had built up over the years quickly began to deteriorate when he started high school, and he knew he would wind up snapping and hitting the kid, blowing the cover. Then, Jack would take out his phone, and the worst would happen.

Kurt turned over and faced the ceiling.

"Dad." he whispered to the air like he did every night. He tried to remember the last time he saw his dad, alive and happy. The memory that he got was way back when Kurt was nine and baking cookies, as his father looked on, smiling and looking slightly distraught at the mess. Nine year old Kurt looked over at his father and giggled, then ran over to him, dirty oven mitts on his hands, and threw his arms around his father. "I wish you were here now. I'd know if you were alright or not. I'm really scared. I want to go back in time so badly. I could have done something. I could have helped you be healthier and spent more time with you. None of this would have happened. I'm so sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry. I love you."

Kurt flipped onto his side, muttering a quiet "Good night" under his breath and his closed his eyes, as a tear rolled down his face.


End file.
